The Vacation

Thanks for checking out this story! It's a slow-build type romance, so if you're anxious for the sex, skip to about halfway through. This is my first longer story and I welcome all constructive feedback to help me improve my writing skills for the next one. Thank you to Ed and the others who have reviewed it and contributed to making it better.

**

Samuel sat in the rigid plastic chair waiting for his number to be called and the acetaminophen to take effect.

It was too slow.

His head pounded and focusing his eyes felt like hard work. It was lucky he hadn't caused an accident driving himself to the city.

The emergency room at Saint-Luc Hospital in Montreal was busy, more than half the waiting chairs were filled with people of all ages, from children with their parents all the way up to the elderly.

Samuel felt fortunate to have found a seat in a corner where he could only be assaulted by noise from one side. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall to block out the rest, but then couldn't stop replaying the suddenness of the attack in his head.

It was one thing to admit to his village GP he'd been surprised by a surly bull, but the city doctor? Embarrassing. It was the kind of accident that only happened to a country bumpkin. Or maybe to thrill seekers in Spain.

Samuel didn't consider himself the former, and he'd never been to Europe.

"Do you know what this place needs?"

A husky female voice cut into his ruminations from the chair next to him. When had she taken it? And was she speaking to him? Samuel opened his eyes to the glare of harsh white fluorescence. "Pardon?"

"A string quartet."

"Excuse me?"

"It's hard to be stressed out when there's a cello playing. Plus, I'm guessing some of the crowd here could use a little 'chamber music', get it? We don't have enough beds but we have chamber..." She shrugged at his confusion. "A string quartet would be soothing and educational."

A young woman with straight dark blonde hair had taken the seat next to him, and now gazed out at the small crowd. She looked like she was in her late twenties and sat with her left hand held up by her shoulder as if she was about to wave to hello. It was completely bound up in gauze.

"It's just an idea," she said, filling his silence. "They say it helped on the Titanic. I'm not one for boats myself. I once went on a deep-sea salmon fishing trip in a misguided effort to impress a boyfriend, and those were the worst eight hours of my life." Earnest green eyes met his. "It's surprisingly hard to empty one's stomach cleanly over the railing of a rocking boat."

"They didn't offer you a bucket?"

"The buckets all smelled of fish," she said wanly.

Samuel laughed. "That wouldn't help matters."

"Not a bit." Her eyebrows, slightly darker than her hair, pulled together just before she turned her attention back to her bound hand, then the waiting room.

He wondered how bad her injury was.

"Trains are more my speed," she continued. "There's only one plane of motion. I like watching the scenery pass and being able to get up and move. The rocking and thumping of the wheels on the tracks are relaxing." She turned back to Samuel. "Are you waiting for someone? You don't look like you belong here."

"What makes you say that?"

"I don't see any blood or gauze," she said, waving her bandaged hand.

"It's a concussion," he admitted.

"And you're waiting for a scan?"

Samuel nodded. "My village GP sent me for a more in-depth workup." He hoped to God she wouldn't ask what had happened.

You could make something up. Could, but he wouldn't. It wasn't worth being dishonest just to protect his ego. It could be a funny story, just not so soon afterward.

"Were you unconscious at any point?" she asked expectantly. Probably trying to distract herself with grisly details. He'd happily give those up as there weren't any.

"For a few seconds, I think. It's hard to say for sure. No one was around." No one but the damn bull who'd done the damage.

"I almost passed out when I saw all the blood from this." She waved her hand again. "I know people say knives are safer when they're very sharp, but I only manage to cut myself on very sharp knives, so I'm not sure who they're meant to be safer for. Trained chefs? Butchers? I am neither." She sighed in resignation and Samuel laughed again.

Everyone knew sharper knives were more precise.

Her expression was bleak when she turned back to him. "I'm sorry, I'm babbling. You probably have a headache."

Samuel was surprised to notice it had gone. Only a low throb remained at the back of his head where it had impacted with the metal railing in the barn. Stupid me. "It's not so bad."

She examined him in his chair. "Concussions can be tricky, but at least they don't involve needles. I loathe needles, and there's no way this doesn't need stitches. Christ, just thinking about it makes my heart race."

"I'm sorry," he said, at a loss for what else to say. He was a bit out of practice consoling beautiful women, and she certainly qualified as that. Wide eyes over a straight nose, high cheekbones and plump lips, she had a natural beauty that was only marred by a small silvery scar running into the right side of her upper lip. Makeup probably would have made it invisible.

She continued, "It's a phobia. Phobias aren't rational, so there really isn't anything to apologize for. It's not like I had a bad experience with a needle once. I just hate the idea of..." She shuddered. "Sorry, can't even say it." She wiped the palm of her right hand on her jeans then shook it out. "I guess we're all afraid of something."

Samuel surveyed the waiting room as he considered. What was he afraid of? Not many things. Fears weren't something he dwelt on, but the few he had were of a personal nature. Not for sharing with a stranger in a hospital waiting room.

"I'm afraid of the weather," he finally said.

A short burst of laughter left her. "Are you serious? As in, sunshine scares you?"

He grinned back. "Not scares, precisely, but I live on a farm, and when the wrong kind of weather comes at the wrong time, it can be quite devastating to the crops, which is devastating to me. The weather forecast can be ominous."

"Huh," she said. "I think that's the most rational fear I've ever heard. Also one of the most futile. Not much you can do about the weather."

Sam smiled. "Not really, no."

After a moment of silence, she said, "I guess most fears are futile."

"If only it were so easy to convince ourselves to forget them."

A crowd of young men in football kits came into the emergency room then, half-carrying a friend who limped with his left leg held up. They raised the volume in the waiting room considerably. Two trailing behind noticed Sam's conversation partner and elbowed each other. The elbowing turned into a pushing match until an elderly lady stopped them with sharp words.

The woman next to him watched them and Sam watched her. He missed the pleasant distraction of her talking.

"I'm Samuel," he said.

Her attention returned to him. "Justine," she replied with a little wave of her gauze.

"Do you live nearby?"

"No, I'm just visiting with my cousin for a few weeks."

"That sounds fun."

She nodded. "It does doesn't it? Only, it turns out she works all the time, and I only understand about five words in French." She eyed him. "I'm guessing that's not a problem for you."

"Non, je suis Francophone. I am French speaking. What does your cousin do?"

"She's a programmer. Works for some IT consulting firm, but I don't understand what they're trying to do, so don't ask."

Samuel wouldn't dream of it. "What do you do?"

Justine sighed and slumped down in her chair. He wondered if her shoulder was aching yet from holding her arm up. It had to be.

"I run a bed and breakfast outside Whistler, in BC."

Judging from her body language, she wasn't having an easy time of it.

She seemed too young for that kind of responsibility, but then he practically ran his father's farm himself these days and he was only 31. Of course, the farm wasn't what it once was.

In English, a voice over the intercom said, "Miss Pritchard, return to reception."

"Well, that's me." Justine stood and tugged a black canvas backpack out from under her chair.

Samuel almost offered to go back with her to give moral support, an unusual and impulsive urge for him, but he didn't want to risk missing his own turn to be seen. Also, she didn't know him. Why on earth would she want his company?

"Bonne chance," he said. "Good luck."

"Thanks. You too." Her smile was warm and genuine, and Samuel didn't want it to go away. But a moment later, she'd turned and was retreating toward the reception area.

Justine was somewhat tall, and her height seemed to be all leg. She wore short black boots over dark jeans that hugged her skin and a gray long sleeved shirt with a wide neck that teased the curve of her shoulders. He could tell she would be a good athlete.

Ça, c'est des belles fesses! he thought to himself. The football players must have agreed since they suddenly got quiet and followed the sensuous sway of her ass walking away down the corridor.

Sam's heart and cock both jumped when she looked back at him and smiled.

***

Justine left the treatment room nearly crying with relief. She'd actually hugged the nurse who had fixed her up, clearly taking her by surprise. But... no stitches! Never had she felt so much like celebrating. Rarely, anyhow.

She couldn't help circling back to the waiting room to see if Samuel was still in his corner. Justine wanted to share her good fortune and also to apologize to him for her babbling.

Had she really mentioned puking off the edge of a boat? She pursed her lips against the horrible imagery that memory conjured and hoped he was still there.

Maybe it's better if he isn't. Why relive her verbal mania?

Samuel was exactly where she'd left him, but now a little girl played in the chair beside him. Justine heard the mother hiss something in French from two chairs down, presumably telling her to take her feet off the wall. Her little red head hung over the seat of the chair, probably improving the view of the waiting room immensely.

Samuel wasn't looking, though. His mussed dark hair pressed into the wall and his eyes were closed. His jeans hugged muscular thighs and Justine wished for a second that his shirt wasn't obscuring his hips and everything in between. The sleeves of his forest green shirt were pushed up to his elbows, and strong arms were crossed over his chest, a further barrier to block everyone out.

He probably didn't realize how such a stand-off pose might actually draw attention.

Farming was obviously good for a body. Good for his body, anyway. He was nicely weathered and strong.

She snapped out of her daydream but before she could announce herself, Justine noticed his nostrils flare, and though his eyes were still closed, Samuel said softly, "You're back. How did it go?"

Justine gripped her bag to her chest in surprise. "Okay, that was a little freaky! How did you know it was me?"

"Your perfume, there is a hint of lilac." He finally opened his eyes and added, "Plus it's a sharp contrast with the stench of this place. It was easy to know you were back."

His smile came out when he noticed the look of surprise still plastered on her face.

Samuel said, "Well at least it was fast, and I see no signs of tears. Does that mean stitches weren't necessary?"

Justine shook her head, grinning her triumph. "They used steri-strips and glue. I didn't know there was such a thing as medical glue! It's a modern chemical miracle."

Samuel laughed and the little girl finally listened to her mother and vacated the seat. Justine flopped into it, dropping her pack to the floor and kicking it under the chair. She held up her left hand to display the evidence of said miracle, a single wide plaster over the cut on the meaty part of her thumb. "I can't tell you how happy this makes me. I mean, obviously I'm not going to start juggling knives or anything, but now I know I could."

Samuel arched a dark eyebrow. "Glue probably won't help a cut tendon."

Funny. She chewed her bottom lip. "True. I'd better not get carried away." She gave him a teasing grin.

Then the implication of Samuel sitting in the same place she'd left him hit Justine. Frowning, she asked, "They still haven't called you?"

"No. I don't suppose a concussion rates as high for triage purposes."

"Apparently not, although if it makes you feel better, I was waiting for two hours before I came to sit next to you. I guess if you don't mind, I'll sit with you for a while longer. Because you made me feel better before."

After a pause, during which she wondered if she was being too forward, he said, "I would like that very much."

"Also I want to apologize for the crazy talk. I really do hate needles."

"I picked up on that, but don't worry. You're a better distraction than a string quartet."

"That's nice of you to say, even if it isn't true. Nothing compares with a well-played cello."

Samuel regarded her for a long moment, his eyes wandering her face and shoulders, before he said, "Let's agree to disagree, shall we? Now, how long have you run the bed and breakfast?" He shifted around in his chair to angle toward her. She did the same, effectively blocking out the chaos of the room behind her.

"Well, I lived there and learned the ropes through childhood, but I only took over when my Grammy died. She left it to me. It's been a little over four years now." Even after so much time the ache from Grammy's absence still made itself known. At least she didn't tear up anymore. Baby steps.

"You still miss her."

"Yeah, she was my only real family. I don't know my aunts and uncles that well, and I hadn't seen my cousin in years."

"But it must be interesting to meet new people all of the time through your work."

Justine shrugged. "I love the house, and I enjoy knowing people have a good time staying there." She didn't mind the constant flow of people, but lately they just served to illuminate how shallow her own existence was. Her guests had regular lives to return to, big families, normal homes, and predictable jobs. Friends who would want to hear about their stay in the River's Edge B&B. She was even envious of their imagined problems. They were small, unlike her own.

Justine gave herself a mental shake. It wasn't the time to get melancholy. Melancholy wouldn't make a nice distraction for Samuel. "So, you're a farmer? Is your property very big?"

"A farmer, yes. The property isn't so big. Enough to make a living."

"Was your concussion farm related?"

Samuel looked away and laughed a little too long. He shifted in his chair before speaking. "It was Boris. He's a bull. I have a few head of cattle, and a couple of the young cows are in heat. Boris was determined to get to them, and I was determined to keep him away."

Justine grinned. "Poor Boris."

"Boris isn't the one with the concussion," he said dryly. "And it's the wrong season for mating. I don't want winter calves."

"It's hard to fight instinct," she said, and she was speaking from experience. Too bad her instincts were so fucking off.

"He'll have to fight it for another couple of months. Spring babies are better."

"In that case, the cows are lucky you're looking out for them."

"It's entirely selfish," he said with a shrug. "How are you able to leave the B&B? Do you have a caretaker?"

"Yes. It's a woman from town who's cooked for us for years. Her daughter is helping out as well. It's not very busy in the spring, though. There's more mud than snow, and it rains a lot."

"So what brings you here, if you're not spending time with your cousin?"

Justine wasn't sure how to answer the question, because she didn't really know what she hoped to achieve herself. Some measure of peace, some kind of rest, hopefully. It had been too long since she'd been able to relax properly. To breathe deeply.

It all came back to fears, but there was no need to expound on those. "I just needed some space. We had a busy winter and I'm a bit burned out. Montreal seemed like a good idea at the time."

"You've changed your mind?"

Justine held up her injured hand. "I've just spent day four in the emergency room, so..."

Samuel laughed, a bit uncomfortably. "Don't let me keep you if you've got exploring to do."

"It turns out exploring isn't as much fun on one's own," she admitted. She wasn't used to being alone, and Samuel was easy company. It didn't hurt that he had a handsome face and broad shoulders. Big hands that could probably do glorious and wicked things with her body, not that she was the kind of girl to hop in the sack with someone she didn't know. Didn't stop her from noticing.

Just then, a nurse holding a clipboard strode into the waiting room. She raised her authoritative voice and addressed the crowd, in French. When she'd finished, Justine turned to Samuel for an explanation. He didn't look happy.

"There's been a high speed, multi-vehicle accident and the ER will be handling the victims. We've been instructed to go to a different hospital, or come back later." He sighed. "I'm going to retrieve my referral."

He stood and stretched his long body, then headed to the reception desk. Justine followed. She felt bad for him, wished there was something she could do to help.

Samuel spoke quietly with the young receptionist who blinked and smiled excessively. The girl disappeared into the back, and returned a few minutes later with his intake paperwork and the written referral from his village GP.

He thanked her, that much Justine understood, then jerked his head toward the door to usher her out. What would he do now?

Outside the hospital, Samuel ran a hand through his hair and looked as though he wasn't sure himself. He said, "They've made an appointment for me at a diagnostic center for tomorrow morning, but it's on the other side of the city."

"Will you go home?"

"I don't know. It's a lot of driving if there is something wrong. I'd hate to be the cause of an accident." Samuel seemed genuinely perplexed.

Because of his head injury? He might be feeling a little scrambled up on the inside, and if that was the case, hanging out with him a while longer was the responsible thing to do. Purely coincidental that she wanted to know more about him.

Justine pulled out her phone to check the time. "Do you want to go grab an early dinner with me? I was in the ER during lunch and I passed an interesting looking café on the walk over."

Samuel regarded her with his deep brown eyes, kind eyes, and she wondered how many girls had gotten lost in their depths.

She really hoped he wouldn't say no.

He smiled a crooked grin and said, "I would love to."

They ate and talked for several hours, about farms and B&Bs and the places they would travel if they could. Both were tied to their properties, both were devoted to their family businesses.

Seemingly without warning, the day was fading, making room for the night.

Justine insisted on splitting the bill and found out when she returned from the restroom that Samuel had paid it all anyway. Sneaky man.

Outside the café, the awkwardness of goodbyes took hold of her, and Justine realized she didn't really want to say goodbye.

After a call to his father, Samuel had decided to spend the night in the city, but he had nowhere to go. She did, though.